Doggone It!
by Ross7
Summary: A dog may be man's best friend, but this pooch is a paramadics' worst enemy!


**"Doggone It!"**

By Ross7

The call had come in to LA County's Fire Station 51 as 'man down'.

However, it was definitely a 'female' the firemen found lying on the ground as they pulled up.

The woman was a real looker, but something else at the scene caused the paramedic pair to just sit there…and stare.

Looming over the lovely young lady in short shorts was the biggest dog either of them had ever laid eyes on. The beast stood nearly four-foot at the shoulders, weighed in at close to 350 pounds, and there was about eight feet between the tip of its shiny, black nose and the tip of its wildly wagging tail. The canine's well-groomed, short, fawn-colored coat glistened, as did its big, bright, brown eyes…and pearly-white fangs.

"That is THE _biggest_ dog...I have ever seen…in my entire life," John Gage numbly announced.

"What makes you think it's a dog?" Roy DeSoto dryly remarked. "Looks more like a Shetland pony."

"It's okay, guys!" the girl assured them. "Goliath is a gentle giant."

"Let's hope so," both men muttered beneath their breath as they reluctantly exited their vehicle.

The pair battled their way over to the Squad's side compartments and began extricating their rescue gear.

Tired of dodging the enormous dog's amorous advances, John latched onto its trailing leash, lashed it to their truck's front bumper and commanded the critter to, "Stay!" By the time the fireman finished his task, his forearms were completely drenched in doggy drool.

DeSoto saw his partner's pained expression and passed him a roll of paper toweling.

"Hi! I'm Roy. He's Johnny," the sandy-haired paramedic declared as he dropped himself and his equipment down beside their pretty patient. "What seems to be the problem?"

"Laura...Laura Melstrand. We were in the middle of our daily walk when a rabbit jumped out. Goliath must be in a particularly playful mood today, because he took off after it. My head said 'Let go of the leash!' Unfortunately, my reflexes kicked in and my hands didn't listen. I got pulled off the path...tripped over this log, here...and, I guess I must've landed wrong...cuz, it feels like my left leg is broken."

DeSoto studied the unnatural position the lady's lovely leg was in and noticed the discoloration. "I'm afraid it looks that way, too." '350 lb. dog: one…110 lb. girl: zero.'

The girl grimaced. "Thank heavens Mr. Spivvy and Max came along. The dear man is too old and frail to carry me, but he promised they would call for help when they got home. Frankly, I wasn't so sure you'd show up. You see, Mr. Spivvy is sort a' senile."

'That explains the call. And the guy would have to be senile to mistake you for a man.' Roy completed his initial patient survey. "Johnny, you wanna get on the horn to Rampart? An' I'll get us a set of vitals."

His slobbered-on associate nodded and began opening the case containing their bio-phone.

The dog took note of all the objects on the ground around his master and, being as he was indeed in a 'particularly playful mood' that day, he decided to dive into them.

John heard the leather strap snap and looked up in time to see the mutt make off with their Trauma kit. "Ah, man! I said ta sta-ay—not pla-ay!"

"Goliath! Drop it!" the girl on the ground sternly ordered.

But the big dog disobeyed. The playful pooch chose, instead, to prance and dance around the trio of humans, with his _prize_ held high, pausing only now and then to shake the daylights out of the container's contents. Amazingly, the case's plastic handle held.

DeSoto passed the victim's vital signs on to his partner.

Gage inserted the call stick and proceeded to bring the hospital personnel 'up to speed' with their patient's condition.

Knowing that they would be ordered to apply an inflatable splint to the fracture, Roy made a valiant attempt to retrieve their Trauma kit.

Goliath was in his glory. The monstrous mutt obviously found it great fun to have the fireman chase after him.

The paramedic couldn't seem to catch either the beast or his breath. So he gave up his pursuit and went panting back over to the now grinning girl. 'Pooch: two…people: zip.'

"Sorry," the pretty miss told him. Though the little lady tried her level best to sound sincere, a smile—as big as her dog—betrayed her. "Goliath can be pretty headstrong. Sometimes, it's just best to ignore him."

'Ignore him?' DeSoto mulled the thought over in his mind for a few moments, but then breathlessly determined, "That's one a' those things...that's easier said...than done!"

Then, as if to prove the paramedic's point, the equipment thief dropped the Trauma kit and swapped it for a fresh toy—er, plastic-handled case.

"Doggone it! Now, he's got the Drug box!" Gage irritatedly announced. "Come back here, you miserable mutt! We _need_ that!"

Roy quickly, and carefully, collected the discarded case.

The thing was completely saturated with ooey, gooey strands of saliva, which seemed to ceaselessly stream from both sides of the humungous hound's drooping jowls.

Gage latched onto the kit and began toweling it clean. "Uhhh...One of us is going to have to fetch the Drug box," he hinted. "Morton wants the pain meds onboard and a fresh set of vitals before we apply the splint."

His still-panting partner appeared displeased. However, DeSoto took the hint and headed off in the prancing, dancing dog's direction. 'Big dog: three…paramedics: nada.'

The mutt managed to stay just out of the fireman's reach. Every time his pursuer would stop, the dog would drop and rest his head on top of the box.

**"Squad 51, what's the hold up?"** Dr. Mike Morton impatiently queried, following several minutes of dead radio air. **"I'm still waiting for a new set of vitals on your fracture patient, 51."**

John stroked his forehead and struggled for the right words to describe their...situation. "Uhhh...Rampart, this is 51. We, uh...haven't administered the morphine...yet."

**EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE**

In the Paramedic's Base Station back at Rampart General, the young doctor's jaw dropped. "What do you mean 'you haven't administered the morphine...yet'? 51, I gave the order over eight minutes ago! Your patient should be immobilized and ready to transport!"

**"Squad 51. The, uh, Drug box is not in our...possession, at present, Rampart."**

Morton's jaw dropped for the second time in as many minutes. He saw his colleagues standing in the hall, just outside of the glass-enclosed call room, caught their attention and motioned for them to join him. "Who does have possession of your Drug box, at present, 51?"

**"Squad 51. The, uh, patient's dog."**

Doctors Brackett and Early exchanged looks of disbelief, and mild amusement, with Morton.

"This is like a paramedic's version of 'The dog ate my homework,'" the young doctor remarked, prior to pressing the send button. "51, I trust the two of you will be able to subdue this dog and regain possession of your Drug box—very shortly?"

**"Squad 51. I dunno, Rampart. This ain't no ordinary dog we're dealin' with. The thing weighs more than the both of us put together."**

"Sounds like an English Mastiff," Joe determined. "Mastiffs are the largest dogs in the world. My uncle had one. A gentle giant. Binky tipped the scales at 327 pounds."

The corners of Kel Brackett's mouth turned upwards once more. "_Binky_?"

Early shrugged. "Don't look at me. I didn't name him."

**"Uhhh...Rampart, Squad 51. The ambulance has just arrived on the scene…and the dog just dropped the Drug box. We'll get it de-slobbered, administer the meds and get you a new set of vitals ASAP,"** the paramedic on the other end promptly promised. **"No! Bad dog! Don't chew that! Hey! Bring that back here, you mangy mongrel! Ahhh...Doggone it! I gotta go, Doc! Goliath just took off with our backboard!"**

The three medicine men stood there inside the Base Station for a few silent moments, grinning and shaking their heads.

"I know one thing for certain," Joe Early determined. "I'm going to want a copy of _this_ tape."

**The End**


End file.
